Ean hesitated for a moment, then forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Fine… if you insist," he muttered. Something about their request felt wrong, but refusing would only draw more suspicion.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, each step echoing in his ears like the toll of a drum. The wooden banister was smooth and familiar under his hand, yet tonight it felt cold, alien. He reached the door of his room and pushed it open.
The sight that greeted him made his heart plummet.
Her once neat, quiet room was now a complete mess. Books that had been neatly stacked were overturned, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and drawers left wide open. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, and even her desk had been dragged out of place.
Ean's breath caught.
"Father… what happened here?" His voice cracked, not only from shock but from the chill creeping up his spine.
From behind him, a casual voice answered, one too calm for the chaos before them.
"Lira was impatient to train. She was searching for your tools," his father said.
Lira's expression was indifferent, almost mocking. She tilted her head, her lips curling in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Where is it, brother? The tool?" she asked, ignoring his horror at the mess.
Three pairs of eyes : his father's, his mother's, and Lira's, turned toward him at once. Their stares were sharp, almost predatory, boring into him with unnatural intensity.
Ean swallowed, his throat dry.
"It's… fine. Just leave. I'll find it myself," he said, desperate to get them out, desperate for even a shred of privacy.
He reached for the door, but...
BANG.
The door rattled violently as his mother's hand slammed against it, keeping it open. The sound was sharp, final.
"It'll be faster if we all search together, won't it?" Her tone was calm, but her eyes glittered with something unrecognizable.
"Yes, brother," Lira added. "Try to remember where you put it. Let us help you look."
They moved closer, step by step, their eyes locked on him, their gazes like knives. Ean stumbled back, the hairs on his neck standing on end. His chest tightened with unease as his mind raced. He tried to recall, where had he put the calligraphy tools? His eyes flickered toward the corner where he usually kept them.
His gaze was all it took.
Ean's eyes flicked toward the calligraphy tools, and in that instant...
SLASH!
A glint of steel flashed in the lamplight. His father lunged, swinging a heavy kitchen knife he had hidden behind his back. The blade cut through the air, aimed straight at his head.
Ean's eyes widened in horror. Instinct screamed. His hands shot up, catching his father's wrist just in time. The cold metal of the blade hovered inches from his face, reflecting his own terrified eyes.
"Father… what are you doing?!" Ean's voice shook as he struggled against the man's far stronger grip.
But the man's eyes were empty, his expression eerily calm as if his actions were inevitable.
Lira and Melian moved at once, stepping forward to assist. Ean's pulse roared in his ears - this was it, they were going to kill him.
And then...
SRAAKK!
Shadows surged from the corners of the room, moving like living tendrils. They whipped around his family, binding wrists and ankles, coiling tight like serpents. His father's knife clattered to the floor, harmless now. His mother and Lira were yanked backward, their movements restricted as though ensnared in a hunter's trap.
Ean collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, trembling with shock.
A calm, steady voice echoed from the hallway.
"Seems you needed our help after all."
Kael Draven stepped into the doorway, his stride casual, almost mocking. The shadows followed his movements as if they were extensions of his body, obeying his will.
Ean's heart hammered. His world had already been turned upside down, but this - this was beyond comprehension. He was just a normal boy. He wasn't meant to see things like this.
"Arghh! Release us!" his father bellowed, writhing in the shadows' grip, his voice strained with fury. The bindings lifted him slightly from the floor, holding him aloft.
"Brother! Help me!" Lira cried, her voice desperate, pleading.
"Ean…" His mother's tone softened, her eyes brimming with a strange mix of pain and sorrow.
The cries stabbed into Ean's chest, pulling at every instinct to protect them. He whirled toward Kael Draven, rage overtaking his fear.
"What are you doing to them? What is this?!"
Kael's lips curved into a cold smirk.
"You should be thanking me. If I hadn't arrived, your skull would already be split open."
Ean's face twisted with anguish.
"If you'd never come at all, none of this would have happened! My life would still be normal!" he shouted, frustration breaking through in a raw cry.
"Hah. Normal?"
The voice was sharp, female, dripping with disdain. From behind Kael, Selene Veyra appeared, the ancient Codex Memoria glowing faintly in her hands.
"Your life has been abnormal from the start," she said coldly. "You're the one who dragged them into this, Ean Briden."
Her words made his stomach twist.
Selene raised the Codex, pages fluttering as if alive.
"Sleep," she commanded.
Light pulsed from the artifact, enveloping the three struggling figures. Their protests faltered, then ceased altogether. One by one, his family slumped into unconsciousness, their breathing slow and steady.
The shadows lowered them gently onto the floor, as if handling fragile glass.
"What… what did you do to them?" Ean rushed forward, checking their still forms with shaking hands.
Selene's voice softened slightly, though her eyes remained cool.
"Calm yourself. I only put them to sleep."
Ean's throat tightened. "But… why? Why would my father… my mother… even Lira… why would they try to hurt me?" His voice cracked with desperation. He searched Selene's face, begging for an explanation.
Selene exchanged a glance with Kael. The man simply scanned the room, silent but watchful.
"We don't know," Selene admitted at last. "So, what is it they want from you?"
Ean's heart clenched. He stumbled toward the corner of his room, pulling open a pile of clothes with trembling hands. From beneath them, he drew out a worn satchel. He unfastened it, revealing the old set of calligraphy tools - an ink stone, a brush, and the grinder he had found while helping his mother clean the storeroom.
"This… this is what they wanted," he whispered, holding the brush aloft.
Kael leaned closer, inspecting the items with a critical eye. His brow furrowed.
"It looks ordinary."
Selene studied it too, her Codex faintly glowing as if sensing something hidden. But outwardly, the tools seemed plain, unremarkable.
Ean's hands trembled as he clutched the brush to his chest. "Please… my father, my mother, hope - they'll be alright, won't they?" His eyes brimmed with desperate hope.
Selene didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pressed her hand to the Codex, and ancient letters began to scrawl across the pages in a script Ean couldn't read. Her expression darkened.
"It's as I suspected," she murmured. "They were being controlled. Bound by threads of memory and illusion."
Kael folded his arms, his voice steady.
"To control someone, you need a medium - a link. I use shadows, but this..." Her gaze flicked to Ean, uncertainty clouding her eyes. What medium was binding his family?
Ean's grip tightened around the tools in his hands. Frustration boiled in his chest, spilling out as his voice cracked. "What's the point of your explanation if I don't even understand it? I just want my family back!"
The words echoed, harsh and cutting. Then, the brush in his hand quivered. From its bristles, a faint dark aura seeped out, so subtle it could have been missed, as if answering his call. In that moment, time itself seemed to slow around him.
The air grew heavy, pressing down on him. The world itself seemed to halt. Ean staggered, his body trembling as everything around him froze in place. Kael and Selene's figures blurred at the edges, and even his sleeping family lay rigid, as if turned to stone.
Then came a voice.
"Ean… do you like it?"
His head snapped to the side.
Standing beside him was the man from the fire - the man who had once smiled at him with warmth amidst the chaos of a burning village. His presence was the same: calm, almost gentle, yet carrying an undercurrent of unfathomable power.
Ean's breath hitched. His surroundings had shifted. He no longer stood in his ruined room but in the heart of a modest little town, its buildings simple, unpolished, untouched by progress. In his hand, the brush gleamed with quiet promise.
"If you like it, I will teach you how to write," the man said softly.
Ean stared at the tool, memories flickering at the edge of his mind.
"I… this…" He swallowed hard, his voice faint. "You'll buy this for me?"
The man nodded, his smile warm, genuine.
And then, like a floodgate opening, fragments of memory returned - memories of admiration, of longing.
"I remember now… I once looked up to his handwriting. He taught me to write, to practice calligraphy. Something I never thought I'd have. Something… precious." His voice cracked with emotion.
"He… he was like a teacher to me."
When Ean opened his eyes again, reality returned - but it was no longer the same. His family still lay where they had been, yet from their sleeping bodies stretched faint crimson threads, visible only to him. They pulsed softly, tethering them to something unseen.
Then, a voice whispered in his ear: "If you cut those threads, they will be free… but their true memories will return."
A pause followed, heavy with meaning. "Are you truly willing to let go of the family I gave you?"
Ean's jaw tightened. His chest ached, but his eyes hardened.
"…They were never mine to begin with."
He raised the brush, dipped it through the air as though it were dipped in ink, and slashed through the threads. Black strokes followed, severing the crimson ties one by one.
Elsewhere. Light burst. The air rippled.
Flicker, flicker.
The crystal orbs surrounding the circus stage pulsed erratically.
Snap.
The strings connecting the puppets in Marionette's hands broke all at once. The girl with the painted clown's smile gasped, jerking her hands back. Blood welled on her fingertips, dripping like crimson beads.
"Damn it! Who dares ruin my performance?" she hissed, her voice thick with fury.
The miniature houses on her stage cracked, splitting in two with a violent crash.
From the shadows of the tent, the Grand Ringmaster's smile widened.
"Seems someone greater than you interferes, Marionette."
The Clown chuckled, admiration in his tone.
"Of course. A relic of our god would never be ordinary."
Marionette's glare could have cut steel. Her rage burned, but before she could speak, the Vanishing Magician sneered.
"Perhaps it's proof you're useless. The relic would shine brighter in my hands."
"Then why don't we compete?" Marionette spat. "Let's see who can gather the Shadow's relics faster!"
"Why not?" the Menagerie Keeper grinned, lounging atop his tamed tiger.
All eyes turned toward the Grand Ringmaster, awaiting judgment.
He spread his arms wide, his grin sharp as a blade.
"Very well. If that is your wish… then let the game begin. For the glory of our god, Shadow - give the audience the grandest performance you can!"
The circus roared, their voices rising like thunder.
And far away, in his quiet room, Ean clutched the brush as if it were his lifeline - unaware that the curtain of his true story had only just begun to rise.